


An Unwelcome Guest

by bornofstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Darth Vader Raises Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Parent Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornofstars/pseuds/bornofstars
Summary: Two thieves break into an innocuous looking apartment in Imperial City, expecting an easy raid.To their surprise, (and horror) they find it occupied with an infamous Sith Lord, and his two young children.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 295





	An Unwelcome Guest

Ivan grunts in frustration after being nudged for the third time in the last five minutes. He pulls the electrobinoculars away from his face sharply. 

“ _What_?” 

The young togruta laid next to him has the grace to look slightly cowed before speaking. 

“Sorry,” Mualle starts, montrals twitching. “But I am getting major murder vibes right now. I feel like we’re looking at a fortress.” 

“Kid,” Ivan replies. “I can tell you exactly what we’re looking at. We’re looking at a fortune on a platter. It’s an Imperial with children, and he regularly serves off-planet. I can tell. There’s probably a nanny-droid, and that’ll be all.”

He lifts the electrobinoculars once more, his face twisting into a bitter smirk. “No one ever expects to be robbed in this area. They’re too confident that the scum will stay in the underbelly of the city.” 

“How can you tell? We’ve never seen anybody here. I’ve been sitting here just as long as you. What am I missing?” Mualle looks wistfully at the binoculars; she’s yet to earn her own pair. 

“Ah, my young protege,” Ivan says. “All Imperials are the same. So very predictable.” He clears his throat and puffs up his chest, - as much as he can do from where he’s laid on his front on the gravel of the roof below him. 

“See,” He starts, eyes laving over the tinted windows of the building opposite them greedily. “This one comes and goes often, but never does the long haul that most officers do. Tinted speeder, not a shuttle. _That’s_ important.” 

“Why is that important?” Mualle asks, curling her fingers into two tunnels and looking through them. “It could mean anything.” 

Ivan tuts. Around them, the city is beginning to fall asleep, neon lights washing over the landscape. The best time to strike, in his opinion. 

“It tells me that this isn’t somebody that’s too important. All the hoity-toity Moffs who live in Coruscant are paraded around in Imperial shuttles. But this man pilots _himself._ I saw him land before you got here this afternoon. Smart enough to park in a secluded space, though; I never saw his face or uniform.” 

“Okay,” Mualle says slowly. “But what’s all this about children? How could you possibly know that?” 

“You got no brains in that big skull of yours?” Ivan says, passing the electrobinoculars over roughly. “For one, why would an officer decide to make long commutes up to star destroyers, instead of simply staying on one and completing a tour? They have responsibilities here in Imperial City. Ergo, children.” 

He pauses, watching out of the corner of his eye as his protege struggles with the lenses. 

“And look at the back of that parked speeder, just on the landing pad.” 

It takes Mualle a minute, but when she gives a grunt of laughter, he knows she’s caught on. 

He’d first spotted the drawing, carelessly dashed on with some sort of paint, on the back bumper, of three stick figures all holding hands. Definitely children, probably young. 

“Many think that having children in the mix can be a problem.” Ivan says. He grabs his electrobinoculars back before Mualle starts getting attached to them, and stealthily stands, trying not to twitch as the togruta follows with far less grace. “But having kiddos under your control can stop any acts of heroism, y’know?” 

Mualle cracks her back with a groan. “Yeah, I follow you. As long as we don't have to hurt any. I don't want to do that."

"We won't have to. That's the point." Ivan replies. "Parents aren't going to try anything shifty, just on the off-chance their little brats get hurt. Just the threat is enough. Get it?" 

"Yeah," She says, some of her unease fading from her face. "So, we doing this now, or what?”

Ivan puts away his electrobinoculars. He checks his blaster, neatly loaded and strapped to his thigh. The reason why he’s survived so long is that he’s always orderly, and he always knows what he’s getting into beforehand. There's no need for excessive scoping and canvasing; he's been playing this game for so long, Ivan knows exactly what to expect.

And this? This house is about to be like taking candy from a baby. 

“Come on,” Ivan says, feeling the familiar thrum of adrenaline beginning to pump. “We’ll go in through the vents.” 

* * *

The apartment is pathetically, woefully under-guarded. 

Mualle had been right - from a distance, it looked like a well-guarded fortress, all decked out with imposing architecture and high walls. But to a seasoned thief like him, it's like a wide open door. 

It takes only a matter of minutes before Ivan has the security system dismantled and they’re stalking smoothly up the wall that leads to the closest ventilation shaft, one he’d surveyed earlier. He’d hit so many places in Imperial City that it feels like an old dance, muscle memory carrying him smoothly up and over until he’s stood on the roof. The wind is strong tonight, and his jacket and hair fly around him as he creeps over to the vent shaft. He’s already donned his mask, and Mualle hurriedly pulls hers on, masking her face with black canvas with two crudely cut holes for her eyes, the fabric stretching comically over her montrals. 

He’s changing his theory about the Imperial inside as he climbs. Now, he’s starting to think this one might live off-world, and this is a place to stay when he’s near Coruscant. The building is new, even for Imperial City, and the security system is up-to-date and gleaming. It’s not a problem for Ivan. Ivan could rob the royal vaults if he put his mind to it. 

Mualle sticks to him like a shadow, her hand wrapped around her blaster. Ivan had picked her up on a backwater planet after she’d been caught robbing the locals blind and been sentenced to death by their council. After he’d smuggled her out to Coruscant, he’d cashed in the life debt that she owed him. It’s been somewhat easier, having somebody else with him, and though he’d never admit it, he is somewhat fond of the young togruta. 

“Boss?” Mualle whispers, and Ivan snaps quickly out of his reverie. She’s already pulled off the plated coverings and placed them silently on the floor, one booted foot hanging over the entry. Despite her seemingly eager stance, there’s still a degree of uncertainty on her face. 

“Are you sure about this?” She asks. “I can’t help but have a bad feeling.” 

“Go,” He says, ignoring the look of resignation that wrestles the fear from her expression. She'd get over the jitters soon enough. 

His hand brushes over his blaster again. Loaded, and ready for anything. “And _stay quiet._ ” 

* * *

They move through the vents without a sound. 

For all her endless questions and stumbles, Mualle is small and skinny, - perfect for this sort of thing. She slides on her stomach effortlessly, pausing regularly to glance over her shoulder. 

The most difficult part, which involved sliding down a long, vertical shaft before it levelled out to the piping that ran across the ceilings had gone off without a hitch, and Ivan’s confidence grew. They would be in and out without a problem. He'd wave his gun around, get some goodies, and be on his merry way. 

They crawl for almost two minutes before Ivan’s ears prick at a certain sound. It’s muffled through the piping, but he recognises the garble of the children’s holo channel, playing directly below them. He taps Mualle on the boot, and when she glances back he gestures to the open grate in front of them. She has to shuffle backwards a bit, but Ivan waits patiently as she presses down to glance into the room below them. 

It’s a cruel tactic, Ivan knows. But the real reason why children are so useful is that nobody wants to try and fight the big bad thieves when their offspring’s life is on the line. If Ivan can use the little brats to his advantage, he would. 

It's not personal, after all. Just business. 

“Kid?” He mouths at Mualle. Then, remembering that he’s been calling her that and she might get confused, he elaborates. “Child?” 

She nods. 

“Girl.” She mouths back, holding up one finger to indicate a singular being. “Sleeping.” 

Perfect. Almost suspiciously good. 

Ivan gestures for Mualle to crawl forward, and he shuffles along onto his front until he has a view into the room.

He sees, from the constraints of the grated panel, a child sleeping in a large bed, illuminated by the blue flickers of a holonet projector. 

With quick efficiency, Ivan pulls the vent up and off, standing it up to the side. It’s barely big enough for him to crawl through, but he expertly goes down feet first, one hand gripping the vent and allows himself a controlled lowering, boots barely making a sound on the excessively fluffy carpet. He gets out of the way quickly when he sees Mualle’s feet beginning to make the same descent. 

The room is full to the brim with toys. 

The walls are painted with animals from all over the galaxy, and right away Ivan notices that there are two beds, with only one occupant. He glances around quickly, cataloguing the locked door and the powered down protocol droid, slumped over by a massive stuffed bantha toy. An archaic astro-mech is docked to a charging station in the corner. Not quite the nanny droid he’d been expecting, but neither were jolting at their sudden appearance, so he didn’t give them a second glance. 

The likelihood of the other child running to fetch their parent is low, Ivan thinks. They would have to have been very quick and had remarkable hearing, and Ivan would have likewise heard the door go. Besides, there's no yelling or sound of pounding footsteps. All is quiet in the house around them, bar the hum of the holo-projector playing on behind him. 

He steps towards the bed. 

The girl is perhaps six years old,- Ivan is unsure. Her face is partly obscured by her pillow and dark hair, and he doesn’t particularly tend to socialise with many children, if he can help it. Ivan glances back to make sure Mualle is ready, before he reaches forward and wraps a hand around the girl’s mouth. He tenses, waiting for her to jolt awake and start screaming and biting, but all the girl does is blearily open her eyes and stare at him in confusion. 

“No biting,” He warns, and the girl mutely shakes her head, breath warm and quick on his hand. 

‘Handle this,” He says over his shoulder, strangely unnerved by the lack of reaction from the child. He wonders if this isn’t the first time this house has been hit after all. He certainly knew that some of his associates would have used the same trick. He keeps his hand on her mouth as Mualle comes forward, swapping over quickly to ensure that there’s no screaming. He steps back away, still watching."I don't like talking to kids." 

“Alright,” Mualle starts. “We don’t wanna hurt you, but we will if you start yelling, okay?” 

The girl nods again.

“Smart girl,” Mualle says. She slowly takes her hand away, and the girl sits up, rubbing her eyes with a small knuckle. 

“Do you have a sister?” Mualle asks. Ivan squints at the unmade bed. The shelf above it is full of a myriad of model speeders, bugs frozen in gelatin, and what seemed to be engine parts. 

“A brother,” The child says quietly. “He’s sick.” 

“Where is he?” Mualle presses, her voice gruff but hinting at gentle. Ivan explores the room with his eyes, noting that an entire wall had been dedicated to firmoplasts and flimsies of drawings. The room is dark, but he can see drawings of shoddy TIE fighters and star destroyers. Many of the papers feature a crudely drawn black figure with a triangular head and a long red arm, or perhaps a stick. His lip curls in amusement. Children were a strange specimen. 

“He’s in daddy’s room, sleeping.” The girl says, still sounding half-asleep. Her words are muffled by Mualle's hand over her mouth, but Ivan hears the core accent. 

“Perfect,” Ivan spins on his heel. He pushes past Mualle and pulls the girl up and out from her bed until she’s standing in socked feet, staring up at him. “You’re going to take us to him.” 

The girl purses her lips, not looking the least bit frightened at the two strangers in her room. Mualle seems by far to be the most tense out of all of them. He can feel the stressed energy almost coming off of her in waves. Unusual, but he's not exactly in the position to address it. He blames it on the nerves of the big, unfamiliar house around them. 

“Daddy doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s sleepin.’' The child murmurs up at him. 

Ivan squats down so that he’s eye level with her. He sees Mualle turn sharply at his movement from where she’s looking over the drawings on the wall, but she doesn’t speak. 

“Well, honey,” Ivan says. “I don’t think daddy would like it if I shot you with my blaster, now would he?” 

“Ivan,” Mualle hisses through her teeth. 

Too soft on kids for her own good. She’d soon lose that, the more she joined him on hits. 

“No,” The girl replies, still seeming hesitant, but he can see some fear beginning to pool in her large, dark eyes. 

“Good,” Ivan says. He stands to his full height once more, before wrapping his hand around the back of the child’s small throat, and begins to walk her out of the room. 

The hallway is lit by foot lights that cast them all in a green glow like the ramp of a ship. Ivan keeps one hand on his blaster as they walk in a convoy like fashion, until they come to a large door that’s sealed tightly shut. Ivan lets go of the girl briefly to ensure that he’s ready for a confrontation. He knew that he’d have the upper hand; these Imperials, especially the one he knew was snoozing in the room behind the door, had never seen real combat in their life. All office-jockeys who spent their life in orbit instead of out on the battlefield. And having one of his children at gun-point would ensure the utmost obedience. Sure, he might have a blaster by his bedside, but Ivan’s quicker and far more dirtier in a gunfight. Any funny business, and he’d be the first to draw. 

"This is probably the easiest place I've ever broken into," Ivan says to the girl, because he's feeling rather smug and can't help but to brag. "You hardly had a security system for me to take down." 

"We don't need one." The girl says, reaching out to place her hand on the biometric pad without being prompted. 

Ah, the simpleness of a privileged childhood. Ivan had carried a blaster before he’d lost his first tooth. He couldn’t imagine. 

"Yeah," Ivan snorts, nudging his blaster against her temple. "Clearly." 

“I saw your drawings. Your brother is a big Lord Vader fan, hm?” He hears Mualle murmur to the girl. Ivan can't tell if she's trying to put herself or the child at ease with her mindless question. 

The words are distant as Ivan counts the blaster bolts in the chamber for a final time, one hand on the girl's shoulder. He thinks about chiding the torgruta for engaging with the kid, but he allows it. 

“Yes,” The girl replies quietly, and Ivan laughs under his breath. He hadn’t seen the resemblance to the infamous Sith Lord in the shoddy renditions of him pinned to the wall. He debates saying so, but it might be a bit overkill to insult her brother’s artistic talent whilst he’s holding a blaster to her head. 

“Don’t try and get smart,” He says in warning to the girl, who merely looks at him with a raised brow. For a moment, she doesn’t look like a six year old child, but more like a stern politician of some sort, about to give him a dressing-down. 

“I am smart actually,” She replies matter-of-factly, crossing her arms as best she can in his grip. “And you are very rude.” 

Any comeback dies on his tongue when he hears the movement of motors activating in the doorway.

He considers briefly, fleetingly, if her nocholance is not due to a lack of understanding of the danger Ivan posed, or if she’s genuinely unafraid of him. 

The whole situation no longer feels like he’s stumbled onto a jackpot.

More like he’s wandered into a serpent’s nest; sprung a trap set by a predator far more dangerous than himself. 

He feels suddenly strange, like he’s been punched in the gut, but before he can ponder on the sensation the doors are whipping open. 

  
  


He’s expecting, - or more hoping for at this point, - a similar scene to what he’d found in the child’s room. A middle aged man, work-worn and vulnerable, laid out with a snotty little kid in a mess of blankets and tissues. Instead, the room is plated with black and white durasteel, the air rich with over-oxygenation, quickly making his head spin. It reminds him of the decor of a star destroyer, the backdrop of many propaganda holos for the Imperial armed forces.

The stench of sterility permeates Ivan’s nostrils, and he can hear Mualle sniffing behind him. 

“What in the galaxy is going on?” Mualle whispers, her voice tinged with desperation. "This isn't a bedroom."

"Daddy's bedroom." The girl confirms, her throat moving beneath where his hand has come to rest. "He's sleeping." 

Ivan opens his mouth, trying to get a grip on that confidence that has yet to fail him, but in the face of what sits in the centre of the room, he can feel it slipping out of his hands. 

A chrome-like egg, on a raised podium, seems to be the only furnishing in the entire room, besides an empty desk in the far corner. The second that they enter, the doors slam shut behind them. Dread pools in his stomach. For some reason, the innocuous object radiates a menacing energy. 

There’s a tense stand-off for several seconds. 

Ivan stares at the metallic egg. 

It seems to stare back. 

“Alright,” He calls loudly, because surely this must be a strange sleeping pod or resting bay or _something,_ and he’s feeling more unsettled than he’d like to admit, so the bravado is making an appearance. 

“Whoever you are, I got your kid out here. And I’m about to decorate your floor with her brains if you don’t get out here and face me.” 

“Ivan,” Mualle hisses from behind him. He casts her a look over his shoulder, and sees that her face has gone starkly pale in the low light. “We should leave. Like, right now. There’s other places we can hit.” 

He goes to reply, but at that moment, the monstrous egg seems to hatch, multiple spires extending to showcase it’s interior. And it's far more like a mouth, with gaping, jagged teeth. There's a hiss of compressed air, and then it's open, a cavernous maw in the room.

“Holy Mother of Moons,” Mualle whispers in terror. 

The sound of a respirator fills the air. 

Ivan can only numbly concur. 

Because as the chrome chamber begins to open, Ivan finds himself staring at the masked face of none other than Lord Vader. 

Lord. Vader. 

If it were possible, Ivan’s stomach would be falling to the floor with a splat. The sensation of fear pooling in his gut is like a physical punch. 

He’s seen his face in holos, of course. But he’d never expected him to be so awful in real life. He sits within the chamber, fully suited in armour and helmet, and even the child that lays sleeping in his lap does nothing to take away from the menacing posture, or the insidious glint of his lightsaber hilt, hanging from his waist. 

  
  


The silence in the room, bar the continuous hum of the respirator, has Ivan’s heart pounding faster than it ever has in his entire life. He feels cold and sick to his stomach, but can’t find it in himself to move a single inch. 

“Would you care to repeat yourself?” Lord Vader asks. 

His voice booms like a seismic wave. Even through what must be a voice modulator, there’s a sarcastic curl to his tone that sickens Ivan to his core. The blonde mop of hair that’s shoved in the Sith Lord’s armpit moves at the sound, and Ivan watches in stunned disbelief as a large gauntlet of a hand reaches up in a soothing motion, patting a pajama-clad back of the small child that's cuddled to his chest. 

If he wasn’t so petrified, Ivan might have laughed at the surrealness of the moment. 

“I-” Ivan’s throat is so dry that his attempt to speak comes out more as a high-pitched squeak. “I am so, so sorry, m’lord. I had no idea that-” The words _that this is your house_ sound so absurd that he just trails off, hastily taking his hand off of the girl, _Lord Vader’s daughter?!_ And holsters his blaster. 

The thought of the Imperial Enforcer living in a casual officer's lodgings isn't computing. Though, Ivan realises with a sickly lurch, he didn't exactly need high tech security to protect his home. Who would dare to come here when this monster resided within? 

Serpent's nest, indeed.

He feels the primal, instinctive fear of facing off with a being far stronger than him. He tries, desperately to continue to beg, grovel, roll over, whatever he needed to do to come out of this awful room alive, but then Ivan cannot move a single muscle. 

Mualle gasps behind him, presumably just as stuck as him. It’s as though every particle of him has frozen in time, and he watches desperately as Lord Vader slowly stands from his chamber, stepping out and towering over him, looking out through the opaque eye-lenses of his mask. Wordlessly, he adjusts the sleeping boy on his hip, who murmurs and tires to nestle into the cape that surrounds him. 

“Leia,” Vader says, turning away from Ivan, who mentally sags as soon as no longer pinned by that menacing gaze, though still unable to move. He stoops slightly and the boy unsteadily stands on two wobbling feet, rubbing at his still-closed eyes. “Take Luke back to your room and wake Threepio. Tell him to reestablish the security perimeter. You are both to stay in your room until I find you.” 

“Yes, father.” Leia says, stepping away from Ivan. He catches eyes with her, and he sees that scornful look, now tinged with pity for him. They pad away, the boy, Luke, sniffling all the way. 

As soon as the door shuts once more, Ivan closes his eyes. He tastes his own demise, tangy and sour, on his lips. 

"Now," Vader says, standing up to his true, abominable height. His armour glints under the lights of the room, the buttons and switches on his chest periodically glinting back up at him. He takes the lightsaber from his hip, and Ivan feels death breathing down his neck. 

"As you have so graciously visited me in my home, it is time that I extend some _hospitality._ " 

The thrum of a laser sword fills the room, and a silent scream falls from Ivan’s lips. 

* * *

Threepio frets over them once he's returned from the roof and reinstalled all the alarms. 

"Oh, Mistress Leia, I simply could not bear the thought of either of you being hurt by those scoundrels." He says, tucking her back into bed for what has to be the fourth time in the last ten minutes. “If I had been powered up, well, I - couldn’t imagine what could have happened.” 

"We're okay, Threepio," She replies, reaching out a hand to pat him on his golden head. "Daddy is taking care of the bad man and his friend." 

"Yes, well,-" He suddenly busies himself with fluffing up the large pile of pillows behind her head, and Leia smiles, feeling warm and comfy, and only slightly rattled after being woken by strange thieves. 

She hadn't been scared. Not really.

The second that she'd realised that it wasn't her father waking her, or Luke crawling up into her bed, she'd flailed out into the bond she shared with her father, and felt him meditating down the hall. It could be difficult sometimes to reach him when he was deep in thought, and she could feel his unconscious concern for Luke, who had been so sick in the night that he'd curled up in their father's meditation chamber, distracting him from her cries for help. In a matter of moments however, she had felt a wave of reassurance, and that dark anger that for once was strangely comforting. He had told her mentally to do as the bad man said, and to bring them to his chambers. And even though her father had sent her and Luke back to their room, Leia could imagine what had become of the bad man and his friend.

Luke groans in his sleep, and Threepio turns on his heel, shuffling over and expertly evading the scattered toys on the floor to reach her brother. 

"Master Luke, it's alright," He says, placing a metallic hand on his forehead. "Oh, my, I really do think I should fetch for the medical droid! He looks rather warm." 

At that moment the doors to their shared room opened with a swish, and Leia's father stepped in, bowing slightly in order not to hit his head on the doorframe. 

"There is no need for the medical droid," Vader says. "I have been watching over him for the night. He simply needs to sleep now that the fever has broken." 

"Very good, Sir." Threepio replies, standing upright and stepping away from Luke's rumpled bed. "If you don't mind, my Lord, I think I'll recharge after such a stressful night." 

Leia doesn’t quite see how it could be so stressful for Threepio, who had slept through the whole ordeal, but Leia's father merely gestures to the charging dock where R2 is already resting. Just as the protocol droid approaches, R2 comes online with a series of beeps, dome rotating as he takes in the scene of the twin’s bedroom before him. 

  
“Oh, now you’re awake!” Threepio says. “Wretched villains attempted a robbery tonight! That electrifying prong would have come in very useful tonight if you hadn’t been charging, you know.” 

R2’s indignant reply had already begun, pointing out that Threepio hadn’t exactly been alert, but Vader waves his hand once more and both droids fall silent. 

“Enough bickering,” He says, sounding weary beneath his mask. “Rest.” 

When the droids fall silent at their respective charging ports, Leia’s father looks at the open grate in the middle of the ceiling, giving off waves of irritation. The fallen grate levitates up into the air, before neatly sliding back into place. 

“I did not think the vents were large enough for beings to fit through,” He muses to himself. “I will have them equipped with the proper...deterrents.” 

Leia wonders just exactly what the deterrents would be. Knowing her father, they would likely be...excessive. 

“Are you alright?” Vader asks her after a moment. Leia stares at the lightsaber hanging from her father’s belt. She nods quickly, pulling at her tangled blankets as a sudden chill goes through her. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she had been slightly frightened when the strange man had woken her. The fear had only lasted a matter of minutes, but she’s still embarrassed that she had felt it in the first place. 

Her father never gets scared. He’s always brave and strong. And, as always, he knows when Leia is lying. 

“It is alright to be frightened,” He says, reaching forward to help her untangle the bedcovers, before leaning over to tuck her neatly into bed. “But you were very brave tonight, Leia.” 

“I didn’t fight them,” She says softly, glancing over at Luke, whose face is all scrunched up in discomfort, brow glistening with sweat. She can feel his presence in her mind, hazy with sleep but unsteady and unfocused. 

“I did not expect you to,” Vader says. He gives her a gentle push to the chest, and she lays back obediently, disrupting the legion of plush toys and dolls congregated around her pillow case.

“You will always be safe when I am around. I'll have more security measures installed in this apartment. This will never happen again.” He continues. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “And we will not stay in Imperial City for much longer. I had forgotten the wretchedness of its population.” 

“We’re going back to Mustafar?” She asks. She likes Mustafar, even though it’s always a bit too warm, and they were never, ever allowed to go outside. She had a bigger room there, and more toys to play with. 

“When I am finished with my obligations here.” Vader replies. He suddenly both looks and feels tired. 

Luke rolls over in his sleep again. He murmurs loudly, incoherent and urgent, before falling back under into sleep. 

“Your brother is rather unsettled tonight.” Vader says. "I've listened to him ramble about his dreams for hours." If he could, Leia knows, he would probably be sighing. “Will you be alright in here?”   
  
Leia looks around the room. It’s not that often that they come to Coruscant. Her father works all over the galaxy, meaning that they have many different places to stay. Luke’s favourite was the quarters on the Devastator, though Leia much preferred her room on Mustafar. Still, she did enjoy the large holonet projector, and the view of the traffic lanes soaring by the window. 

She nods, but her eyes are drawn to the ceiling vent. Vader follows her gaze, and with a flick of his hand, swipes off the piles of clothes and toys piled up on a nearby chair with the force. 

  
“I will stay. You can sleep assured that no harm will come to you.” He stands, carefully navigating the toy-ridden floor, and takes a seat. "Always." 

Leia smiles. 

“Goodnight, dad.” She whispers. 

  
Vader says nothing, but the lights dim, and then it’s just the sound of his respirator, and the glow of the charging port nearby. 

She feels a wave of affection through the force, and smiles into her pillow.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A bit more lighthearted than what I usually write, with a lot of tropes, but i wanted to post this on here :)  
> (sorry for any typos, this was pretty rushed)


End file.
